A Long Week
by cornergoddess
Summary: After all he had lost, his grip on reality was the last thing he ever expected to go. House is at Mayfield detoxing. house!whump, house/wilson, hurt/comfort/angst. There are at least 2 OCs in this story, but they are only to anchor the plot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello guys, hopefully another story about detox isn't too repetitive for you all! I just really wanted to write both and this is the order they came out of my head in. Thanks to JackslovesHilson for betaing (being a beta for?) this story! I hope you enjoy and please let me know if you like or dislike this story or any elements of it. **

He was still in shock. It hadn't been real. The detox, Cuddy, Amber...none of it. After all he had lost, his grip on reality was the last thing he ever expected to go.

Wilson drove in silence while House took his last dose of Vicodin before arriving; possibly his very last. Wilson looked disapproving, but didn't say anything. Frankly, he was surprised his friend hadn't jumped from the car, or yelled that this was all a cruel joke. But he didn't. He sat catatonic in the passenger seat, looking out the window forlornly. Wilson reached over and put a hand on his arm.

"House. You're doing the right thing."

House didn't answer, just kept staring out the window and tapping his fingers on the armrest.

Wilson pulled up at the clinic. Mayfield Drug Rehabilitation and Behavioral Health. Wilson turned to House, who had been quiet the whole ride there. "You ready?"

"No," he said softly.

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

"Whatever."

Wilson helped him out of the car and handed him his cane out of the back seat. The man took it and started limping slowly to the entrance of the facility. Wilson followed, noting the unsteadiness in his gait and the shake of his left hand. He was nervous. Wilson tried to remember when he had seen House nervous-not the MCATs, not in surgery, and certainly never in during a case. He was calm, but there was always a storm of emotions brewing underneath the tough exterior. That storm was coming to the surface now.

Wilson got to the desk first. "I'm here to check in Gregory House. I'm his physician, Dr. James Wilson." They had agreed that Wilson would check House in under physician supervision because House said if he checked himself in he wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaving.

The woman at the desk smiled. "Alright, I'll have both of you fill out some paperwork, and then we can get you processed, Mr. House."

"Doctor," House snapped, glaring at the receptionist.

"I'm sorry; Dr. House. We'll do a physical and some blood tests and then get you set up in a room."

House sighed and sat heavily in a waiting room chair, filling out the paperwork soullessly. Usually, he'd make up a fake name or write in the wrong information, but he couldn't muster the energy today. He could feel Wilson looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn't do his usual paperwork ruse. He was actually slightly saddened when he saw that House had filled out the paperwork normally. He wanted to hold House's hand and tell him that it was OK, that he didn't have to do this. But he couldn't. Instead, he took House's clipboard and his own up to the desk and handed them to the receptionist, who called House back to one of the examination rooms.

"Do you want me to go?" Wilson asked. House nodded. He gave his friend's limp hand a final squeeze and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to OldSFfan for the first review of this story! And also thanks to JackslovesHilson for the beta!**

House was led back to a small examination room and helped-more like manhandled-onto the exam table. The nurse smiled at him, sickly sweet in lavender scrubs.

"The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes," she grinned and left the room.

He was alone now, and he didn't like it. He found himself wanting Wilson by his side, although he'd never admit it. Wilson always knew what to say. He rubbed his leg. It was already starting to hurt.

After a few minutes of waiting, a short, Asian man with rectangle, wire-rimmed spectacles came in. He smiled slightly at House. "You are Dr. House?" he asked with a slight accent.

House didn't respond, assuming correctly it was a rhetorical question. "I am Dr. Lei. I'll be your physician here."

"Great...just great. When can I leave?"

"We're not going to worry about that right now. Right now, I'd like to check your heart and lungs. Would that be OK?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Well...yes...but…"

"Just do it."

The doctor checked his lungs and heart as promised, and pumped a BP cuff on his arm. "Your blood pressure is a little high. Are you nervous?"

"No. I'm in pain."

"Is it bad right now?"

"It's always bad."

"What would you say your baseline is, on a scale of 1 to 10."

House sighed. "Six."

"Six on a good day or six on a bad day?"

"Six on an average day."

Dr. Lei nodded and wrote on his chart. "And you've been using how much Vicodin a day?"

House shrugged. "As much as I need."

"Which is…?"  
He sighed. "80 mg a day. Sometimes more."

Dr. Lei nodded, seemingly unphased. "I have a muscular specialist coming in from our sister hospital to take a look at your leg and possibly recommend some exercises."

"I don't need a muscular specialist."

"She's very good; I think you may be able to benefit from-"

"No."

"Okay. Well then may I take a look?"

"No."

"Dr. House, we have to-"

"I said no!" It was enough being in rehab; having to admit he was an addict. He didn't need another doctor poking and prodding at his leg.

"Oookay then…" Dr. Lei agreed reluctantly, drawing out the word. "I'll just draw some blood and get you set up in a room then. Sound OK?"

"Yeah. Fantastic."

Dr. Lei helped him to a room with a window, a bed, its own bathroom...the works.

"Fancy," House quipped.

"Dr. Wilson said only the best for you. Would you like to get into bed?"

"I can do it," House said, and started limping to the bed.

"Um, no cane."  
"What?"

"And no shoes."

"Huh?"

"No cane in the room. We can give you one if you need to get up, but we don't allow canes here. Patients tend to use them as weapons. And no shoes. You'll be more comfortable and they can also be used as weapons."

House sighed. He had to know this was coming. He just didn't want to face it. He surrendered his cane, and along with it, his independence. He also surrendered his shoes, which he hoped he'd get back because they were nice shoes.

"Thanks. Do you need help changing?" Dr. Lei gestured to the scrub-like clothing on the bed.

"No."

"Alrighty then, I'll see you tomorrow. A nurse will come in and get you started on an IV saline drip shortly."

House sat on the bed and started the slow process of getting his clothes on. He lie back on the uncomfortably firm mattress and stared at the ceiling. It would be a long week.


	3. Chapter 3

He was awoken by a knock on the door. Slowly, he lifted his head. It felt heavier than a ton of bricks. "What," his horse voice said.

"Meds and vitals," the female voice on the other side of the door said. A nurse entered. She was older than the one from earlier; Lavender Scrub Nurse. Her face was pinched and she looked hardened; like she'd seen everything and nothing would surprise her. She put a thumb on House's wrist to check his pulse, then handed him a cup of pills. He was disappointed to see that it contained no Vicodin; only methadone and an antiemetic.

"Cold turkey, huh? Tried that already." He downed the pills in one gulp.

"You're on a moderately high dose of methadone which we'll be lowering in the next few weeks. Any nausea?"

"Not yet. I'm sure the answer will be different by…" he looked at the clock. "Noon today."

The nurse nodded slightly and replaced his saline drip.

"You know I'm capable of drinking water, right?"

"You won't be in a few hours." House could feel the snideness in her voice.

He looked towards the wall and took in the sickly greenish-yellow color. It looked like the puke that would be coming out of his body shortly. The nurse took his temperature.

"A psychiatrist will be in to talk to you while you're still lucid."

"Fine."

The nurse left without saying a word.

(LINE BREAK)

House didn't want to admit it, but the pain in his leg was already getting worse. He reached down to rub it.

"You're in pain?" a man's voice said.

"Yeah. How about you knock instead of playing scare the cripple?"

The man was wearing a tweed suit. He must have been 100, but his eyes were kind, and they reminded House of Wilson's. Same color. That meant he would probably try to get things out of him he didn't want to say.

The man chuckled. "Sorry about that, Dr. House." He had a British accent.

"England?"

He chuckled again. "Yes. Good ear. I'm Dr. Matterson. How are you feeling? Besides the pain."

"I'm fine. Don't need happy pills, thanks."

The psychiatrist smiled. "I'll get right to the point, Dr. House. Your colleague said you were exhibiting some suicidal ideation prior to being admitted."

"Which colleague?" House asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dr. Wilson."

"Sounds about right. You know, he's a little...challenged. Ask anyone."

"Really? He seemed intelligent to me."

House shifted to put more weight on his left side. "That's what he wants you to think."

"He also said you'd been taking well over the recommended therapeutic dosage of Vicodin and forging prescriptions."

"That would be about right."

"And why did you start taking that much?"

House shifted again, the pain starting to get worse. He gestured to his leg.

"Ah, yes. You had a leg injury about eight years ago that caused chronic pain in the limb, is that correct?"

"Wish it wasn't."

The doctor flipped through his file. "And you also reported hallucinations as a side-effect of the Vicodin?"

"Yes. You can read; good job."

The old man seemed unphased by his snideness. "And how do you know these hallucinations were a side-effect of the Vicodin and not grief from losing two friends in the span of a year?"

"Because I'm a doctor. A real one; not a psychiatrist."

He nodded. "Alright, well I'm going to start you on 25 mg Zoloft for mood stabilization and possibly to help with the nerve pain along with an antipsychotic to stop the hallucinations."

"They've stopped."

"For how long?"

"Since I got here."

"Well, being in a new environment could have caused them to wane, but they could come back, so I'm going to proceed with the antipsychotics."

"Fine…" House agreed, knowing he had no choice. He had no choice in any of this. It was all out of his control now. He wished he hadn't let Wilson sign him in as a physician. Then he could leave whenever he wanted. And he wanted to leave right now.

"Alright. Well I'm available whenever you need to talk, Dr. House. I know rehab can be a difficult process, even for doctors who know about the symptoms of withdrawal. You are going to crave Vicodin, and you are going to want to leave here."

"I already do. Now goodbye."

"Goodbye!" the psychiatrist said cheerfully.

(LINE BREAK)

He had been right about the noon thing. He had to drag himself as quickly as he could to the toilet and retched for what felt like hours until something finally came up. He laid his head on the cool porcelain. He may as well just stay here. He could already feel the next round coming.

(LINE BREAK)

He sweat and shook, sweat and shook...and hurt. He hurt. The pain in his leg radiated up his back and into his mouth, where he tried to suppress whimpers. Thankfully, the spasms hadn't started yet. He knew they would, though, and he didn't know if he could take it. In that moment, he wanted to end it. He could hear Wilson's voice telling the psychiatrist, "_Suicidal ideation"_. He tried to push it out of his head.

The nurse came, fixing his drips and checking his vitals. He whimpered pathetically. "Put me on...something for the pain…"

"I can give you Ibuprofen," the nurse so helpfully suggested.

"Fine. Won't help but fine."

She gave him the small red pills and he swallowed them with none of the same vigor he used to swallow the white ones. They didn't do shit. He had given up with dragging himself to the toilet unless he had to shit, which was often. Instead, a bedpan lie beside him.

"Dr. House!" Dr. Lei boomed, or as much as the small man could boom. House winced. He had a searing headache.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

"Shitty…"

"That's to be expected. Anything we can do to help?"

"Vicodin…"

The doctor smiled a little. "Anything except that?"

"No…"

"Okay. Well the nurse said your temperature was a little elevated, and that she gave you Tylenol. Hopefully that will break the fever."

"Whatever...OW!" House yelped as his leg throbbed more. He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the doctor was by his side.

"What just happened?" Dr. Lei asked.

"What just happened is you won't give me drugs so I'm in pain. Cause and effect."

Dr. Lei nodded. "Well just wait for the Ibuprofen. I'll check on you in an hour."

"Whatever…"

The doctor left and House was once again left alone with his pain. He knew the Ibuprofen wouldn't be kicking in anytime soon. He wished he could have a hot bath; water steaming over his body and easing the cramps. Unfortunately, there was no bathtub in the bathroom. _Probably worried I'll drown myself..._he assumed. He slumped back and closed his eyes, hand still bracing his bad leg, body skewed to the left. If it weren't for his disability, he'd be in the fetal position right now. Pathetic.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This chapter could be a bit much some people due to an abundance of pain and some violence. Let me know if you like it!**

Wilson's phone rang at noon the next day. He didn't have caller ID as he hadn't yet switched from the wired phones the hospital had had since the 80s. He liked the feeling of the smooth plastic as he twirled it in his hands.

"Dr. James Wilson," he greeted professionally.

"Yes, hello, this is Dr. Lei. I'm Gregory House's primary physician at Mayfield?"

"Oh. Hi Dr. Lei. Is something wrong with House?"

ONE HOUR EARLIER  
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. All he could think about; all he could feel was the searing, hot pain focused on his thigh. He rolled around the bed, using every inch. He retched off the side of the bed, not even bothering with the emesis basin. He definitely wanted to die now, which was a good thing because he was pretty sure he was going to. Something had to change right now or he was going to stop breathing. He screamed as a cramp cut its way through his leg.

He sat up when the cramp was finished. He had to do something about this. He needed a nurse, or a doctor...or Vicodin. He really needed Vicodin, now more than ever. The door seemed so far away...maybe he could get someone to call Wilson and discharge him. He couldn't stay here anymore. At this point, he didn't care about his job, he just needed the pain to stop. But the door seemed so far away...he had to try.

Slowly, he put his left leg on the floor. It felt OK. His right leg, though, was clearly a different story. As soon as he tried to set it on the floor, he whimpered. He tried again and groaned, leaning his head back. His brain seemed to slosh back inside his head.

"Nurse!" he yelled. Nobody came. But he had to get up, so he grabbed the standing lamp next to his bed, took the lampshade off, and started using it as an extremely heavy, awkward cane. After some struggling, he made it to the door. His leg seized up again, and he screamed. He banged on the door as hard as he could in his weakened state.

"HELP! Help me!" he screamed through the window. Nurse's stopped, then ran in.

"Sir? What's wrong?"

His leg gave and he fell on the ground, screaming in agony. The nurses rushed towards him, and he tried to push them away with the hand not wrapped around his thigh. He must have hit one of them because he heard a yelp.

"Code gray!" he heard a nurse yell down the hall. "Get me some restraints in here!"

_Restraints...no...no…_

He felt a hand grab his arm and a needle stab in his arm. His body suddenly felt heavy, but couldn't stop fighting off the nurses. He would not be restrained.

"NO!" he yelled.

"Sir, calm down. You're not making this easier on yourself," a man said as he grabbed House under the armpits and hoisted him up onto his feet. House screamed again as his leg banged against the wall. He tried to kick the man. He didn't succeed. Another man grabbed his legs and pulled them onto the bed. His head felt heavy, and his limbs burned with exhaustion. The men grabbed his arms and strapped them to the bed as House whimpered. His eyes drooped but were forced open by a white, hot, stabbing pain in his right leg as the men pinned it to the bed. He screamed again, arching his back.

"NO LEG!"

"Sir, please sit still. We're almost done," one of the men pushed a needle into House's tense bicep and he slid into darkness.

(LINE BREAK)

Wilson rushed into House's room ahead of Dr. Lei. He took in his friend. He was sweating, mouth half open and eyes squeezed shut. He groaned. Wilson hadn't seen him this bad since the infarction. He pushed that thought out of his head and went to his friend's bedside.

"House..?" Wilson tried. He put a hand on House's arm. His eyes flew open, bloodshot corneas against the bright blue. He grabbed Wilson's hand with his restrained arm.

"House, I'm sorry...I got a call from Dr. Lei an hour ago. What happened?"

His friend just groaned and tried to grab his leg. That's when Wilson noticed. He started shaking with anger.

Trying to be calm, he turned to Dr. Lei. "You...restrained his leg…?"

"Yes…?" Dr. Lei said, staring at the oncologist. "Is that a problem? We didn't want him to hurt anyone else or himself. He was hysterical when the nurses found him."

"He was hysterical...because he was in pain…" Wilson said slowly.

"I understand that. He hit a nurse."

"Unrestrain his leg. Now."

"Dr. Wilson, he's still-"

"Now!"

Dr. Lei sighed and unstrapped the restraint on House's right ankle. House whimpered as he tried to stretch the leg. He looked up at Wilson with something like gratitude. Then he turned his head to the side and vomited. Wilson sighed and grabbed one of the rags from the nightstand and wiped off his friend's mouth.

"He's still not lucid, Dr. Wilson. We can unrestrain him in about half an hour if he doesn't try to do anything else destructive."

"Get out," Wilson ordered. Dr. Lei scurried away. An angry Wilson was a scary thing.

"House...how are you feeling?" Wilson asked. House moaned, but found his voice.

"Hurs…" he slurred.

Wilson squeezed his hand. "I know. I'm sorry they restrained you."

House grimaced and yelped as his leg went into another spasm. He tried again to grab it, but then remembered he couldn't and slumped against the bed. Wilson loosened the restraints on House's arms. House flexed his raw wrists.

"How bad?" Wilson asked.

"Bad...you were right...wanna die…"

"It's OK. I know. You're getting help. I'm proud of you." Wilson watched his friend for a few minutes until he fell asleep again. He looked an inch away from death. Wilson hoped that soon the worst would be over.


	5. Chapter 5

Dr. Matterson came in his room at what felt like three in the morning but was actually ten.

"Dr. House?" he tried, putting a hand on his arm. House flinched away, startled. The psychiatrist chuckled a little.

"It's just me. Why don't you wake up so we can talk a little?"

Slowly, House opened his eyes. He hadn't been conscious of the pain when he was asleep, which was why he was asleep, but now he was. He grabbed his thigh and moaned. It was stiff from lying in bed all night. They must have given him some kind of sleeping pill.

"Are you OK?" Matterson asked, a note of sympathy clouding his voice. House focused on him hazily.

"Your leg's hurting?" the doctor asked.

"Always...hurts…" House ground out over the searing pain.

"Always?" Matterson asked. House knew he was just trying to get him to talk, like psychiatrists do, but he didn't care.

"Yes...always...having a chunk of muscle ripped out of your thigh will do that to you…" House rubbed his thumb down the indentation and surgical scar. He winced. Even touching it hurt now.

"You had surgery at some point?" Dr. Matterson inferred. House nodded.

"Girlfriend...fucked up…"

"What does your girlfriend have to do with this?"

House grimaced as he held his leg as close to his body as possible, turning away from the psychiatrist and trying to rub out a wicked cramp that was forming. "Dr. House?" he heard distantly, but ignored it in favor of massaging his leg. He felt a hand on his shoulder again.

"Dr. House. Should I get someone?" the psychiatrist asked. House shook his head.

"Won't help…"

"Is your pain always this bad?"

House shook his head. "Vicodin...helps…" He hissed as he tried to press on the sore muscles.

"Well, I'm sure Dr. Lei will find something else that will help and not give you hallucinations if that is in fact the cause of them."

"He thinks...I'm exaggerating...ow…" House curled his head down towards his chest and hoped the British man didn't notice his tears. Every muscle in his body was tensed.

"I don't think you're exaggerating," Matterson assured. "Which is why I'm offering to find you someone that may be able to help you right now. I'm not a medical doctor per say, so I don't know much about pain but it seems like you're in a lot of it and I don't want you to be. Nobody here does."

"Well then you need to give me something stronger than ibuprofen."

Dr. Matterson nodded. "I understand that. I'll make sure that Dr. Lei knows that."

House leaned over his leg more, grimacing. His leg went into a worse spasm and he screamed hoarsely. He tried to massage it out but this only caused him to scream again. He felt hands on his neck and he tried to struggle away from them.

"It's OK; I'm just checking your pulse," Dr. Matterson soothed. His hand went down to his pager and pressed a few buttons.

"Just...get me..._something_…" House breathed.

"I am. I've paged Dr. Lei to ask for acute pain management and for him to examine you."

"Tell...him…" House trailed off as he felt his heart pounding in his chest at an alarming rate. His head was full of the noise; of the _lub dub, lub dub_ of the organ. He knew it was too fast but couldn't do anything about it. He felt his eyes closing and heard Dr. Matterson's voice getting distant, and then there was nothing.

(LINE BREAK)

"Dr. House...Dr. House…" he heard. It was as if he someone was calling to him from the other side of a long tunnel. He opened his eyes a crack and immediately closed them again against the pain in his leg. Pale hands lifted his eyelids and shone a light into the irises. He winced.

"You gave us quite a scare," an accented voice said. House tried to focus on the source of the voice. It was Dr. Lei, standing above him with a pen light and a concerned look.

"Huh…?" House said dumbly.

"We had to shock your heart back into rhythm. It was beating irregularly and too fast. How do you feel?"

"Did you give me something…?"

"We did. We're starting you on Suboxone for breakthrough pain. It should help combined with the ibuprofen and methadone. Is the pain any better?"

"A little…"  
"Good. Well, I'm going to have a nurse stay and monitor you for a few hours to make sure your heart rate is stabilized. I'd also like you to try group tomorrow. You don't have to talk; just go and listen if you want."

"Not a big talker, are you?" he heard a female voice ask. He looked around, and his eyes rested on a tall, blonde woman in the corner of the room. He moaned. Great. Now he was crazy again. He glared at Amber.

"He likes to talk about Taub's height," another voice said. Kutner. Fantastic.

"Wait, are you OK?" the Indian doctor asked. House ignored him.

"Can you give me...something to sleep?" House asked Dr. Lei. If he was asleep he couldn't hallucinate, and if he didn't hallucinate he wasn't crazy, and if he wasn't crazy he could leave sooner.

Dr. Lei nodded and handed him a pill. House propped himself up on his elbows and downed it. He closed his eyes and heard the door close. Then he heard singing.

_"__Forget your troubles, come on get happy…"_

"Oh shut up!" he yelled at Amber's voice, and threw a pillow in her general direction. The singing stopped and he drifted into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up and felt marginally better. The throbbing in his leg was still there, and so was the sweating, but neither were as bad as they had been the past few days. Then he remembered. They were making him go to support group. He groaned.

"Maybe it won't be so bad?" Kutner suggested. House jumped a little. He had forgotten about the hallucinations too. Day officially ruined.

He ignored Kutner and rubbed his stiff leg.

"You OK?" Kutner asked.

"I'm fine!" he snapped. Kutner backed up.

"Who are you talking to, Dr. House?" the nurse asked, concern clouding her voice.

"No one. Here to take me away, warden?"

The nurse laughed a bold, loud laugh and held out her hand.

"I can sit up," House informed.

"Okay," the dark-skinned nurse said and withdrew her hand. House propped himself up on his elbows and swung his left leg over the bed. He grabbed his right leg with both hands and painfully guided it next to his left. Grimacing, he held out his hand. The nurse started to pull at it, but he stopped her.

"No. Cane."

The nurse nodded and got one of the ugly metal hospital canes from the hallway and handed it to House.

"Do you want to shower first or just go?" the nurse asked, wrinkling her nose a little.

House tested the strength of his leg. Satisfied it could hold him up, albit painfully, he stood. "Shower. Can't stand that long though."

The nurse nodded and led him to a shower room, pulling a shower chair out from the closet and handing it to him, along with other shower items.

"How do I shave?" he asked.

"I can get you an electric after you shower."

House nodded and lifted himself into the shower after stripping down. The hot (ish) water felt good on his stiff leg. He rubbed it vigorously.

After he was showered and shaved, the nurse helped him into the support group room, where he sat down heavily in one of the chairs in the circle and played with his cane, tapping it on the floor. The group wouldn't start for another few minutes, so he amused himself by looking at the other patients on the ward. One was a teenager who looked like he was still in the throes, twitching and sweating. Another was an older woman who looked like she shouldn't even be here; with straight posture and a prim face.

"Alright!" a younger woman shouted and everyone quieted. "Let's start! Sit down please. Would anyone like to say how they're doing today?"

_Everyone here's feeling shitty and they want drugs, _House thought. As if she could read his mind, the woman looked at him.

"How about you? Tell us your name, why you're here, and how you're doing."

House sighed. If he cooperated, it might be easier to get out of here. "I'm House, I'm here because my doctor thinks I'm faking a leg injury, and I'm in fine."

"You're who?" the teenager boy asked. He twitched slightly, eye closing and opening.

"House." He studied the boy. His face was uneven; mouth drawing down on slightly on one side. "Have you seen a doctor recently?"

"Yeah...why?" the kid asked.

"You have Bell's palsy."  
"Huh?"

"Alright, why don't we move on?" the leader of the group asked cheerfully, side-eyeing House. House ignored her.

"Alcohol addiction?" House asked the kid.

"Yeah..how'd you know?"

"The alcohol was masking the facial palsy by depressing the central nervous system, and thus the nerves that control your face. You should get that checked out."

The leader glared openly at him now. "And you know this how?"

House winced and rubbed his leg. The pain was coming back. Hopefully this stupid group would be over soon so he could get his dose of Methadone. "I'm a doctor...Dr. House."

"Okay, well in the future, I would appreciate it if you did not diagnose people in this group. No one asked for it. Now, let's move on."

The group moved on without House, who couldn't have participated even if he wanted to because he was biting his lip and trying not to whimper. The hard chairs weren't helping either. He sighed and wished he could go home. How long were they going to keep him here? Another week? A month? At least the hallucinations were gone for the moment. He didn't want his antipsychotics upped. They made his brain foggy and he couldn't practice medicine on antipsychotics. Besides, the hallucinations were only from the Vicodin withdrawal. When it was all out of his system, he would be back to normal.

"You? Normal?" Amber scoffed, sitting in the chair next to him. He ignored her.

"Hey, that guy doesn't look so good…" Kutner said, pointing at the teenager. He was right. The boy had totally zoned out of the conversation, but not in the way a bored person does. House knew what was going to happen before it did. The boy collapsed on the floor and started seizing.

"Shit…" House muttered under his breath. With everyone panicking around him, he stood painfully and walked over. He tried to stoop down but couldn't due to the weakness in his leg.

"Someone get him on his side! He's going to aspirate spit or possibly bite his own tongue off if you don't!" House yelled over the din. The group leader knelt next to the kid and held him on his side.

"Everyone step back! You, get a nurse and tell her to bring a shot of Ativan," House said to an older man with a beard. He walked away to get the nurse. "And find out what he's on for seizures!" House yelled after the man.

Slowly, the boy went limp. "Lie him on his back," House ordered the leader. She complied.

A nurse rushed into the room with a syringe of Ativan with the bearded man following.

"Too late," House said. "He's postictal. Now, what do you have him on for delirium tremens?"

"He shouldn't have that severe of a withdrawal. He only drank about 15 drinks a week."

"He lied. Look at his eyes." House pried the boy's eye open to reveal the yellow sclera of jaundice.

The nurse's mouth contorted into an O. "He's only fifteen…"

"Yes. But fifteen with daddy issues." House held up the boy's arm, which had several circular scars running down it.

The nurse sighed. "Regardless, his medication is none of your business."

"Fine. Well, just in case you decide you don't want a fifteen-year-old to have permanent brain damage, start him on benzos."

"We will. Thank you," the nurse assured him and walked back to her station.

House almost smiled. He didn't realize how much he had missed solving the puzzle, even if it was a four-piece puzzle with a picture of a butterfly on the box like this one. Now he just needed to get back to work, and that meant getting off the anti-psychotics. He needed a plan.

**BONUS MEDICAL GLOSSARY/FACTS:**

I love teaching about medical terms and if any of you are interested, here are some terms and explanations of what happened in this chapter! If you ever have any questions about the medicine or anything else in this chapter, please let me know!

**Bell's Palsy: ****a condition in which the muscles on one side of the face become weak or paralyzed. **

**Alcohol depresses the central nervous system, which consists of the brain and spinal cord. Sometimes, this can make the parts of the brain that move the face weaker temporarily. (If this is wrong, please let me know because I'm not 100% on this one)**

**Ativan: a muscle relaxant**

**Postictal: the period after a seizure in which the patient may be unconscious or confused**

**14 drinks a week constitutes alcoholism in males**

**Sclera: the whites of the eyes**

**Benzos: abbreviation or slang for benzodiazepines. Certain types of benzodiazepines are used to treat alcohol withdrawal symptoms, including seizures.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Last chapter! Thanks for reading! My next story will probably be about the time House tried to cut those tumors out of his leg :)**

The next day when they gave him his pills, he cheeked the antipsychotics. He did this the next day and the next too. The nurses didn't ask him to prove he'd taken them because he'd taken them every other time, so they had no reason to suspect him.

The pain in his leg and everywhere else was dying down considerably from where it had been a few days ago. It still hurt, and it hurt worse than when he was on the Vicodin, but he thought the methadone may be helping. He must be on a different dose than he had been when he took it the last time, because although his mind was fuzzy, it wasn't so fuzzy it couldn't be attributed to just the antipsychotics.

"Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?" Kutner asked. House glared and ignored him.

They let him out of his room one day to go to art therapy. How drawing a sunset helped addicts not be addicted, he had no idea. Most of their sunsets actually looked like a sick cat had puked on the paper.

House stared into space and rubbed his leg, already done with his mandated painting.

"What are you looking at?" a girl with purple hair and a septum piercing asked.

"The wall. What are you looking at?" House countered.

"You. You look familiar."

"I'm a tall old white dude. I'm pretty average-looking."

"No...you definitely look familiar," the girl said, squinting at him.

"Okay, whatever. Just stop staring at me."

The girl snapped her fingers. "You were my doctor!"

"I'm many people's doctors."

"No, but you were _my _doctor. You ripped out my feeding tube; said I didn't need it."

"Sounds like me, 's your point?"

"My mom had Munchausen's. It got put in but you were the only doctor that ever noticed…"

"I'm a noticer."

The girl nodded, seemingly satisfied. The man next to him who was listening to the conversation looked over and addressed House. "Hey, I have this thing on my-"  
"Nope!" House loudly cut him off and stood up, filing out with some other patients.

Dr. Lei was waiting for him in his room. "Hello, Dr. House. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Can I leave?"

"Well, how are your hallucinations?"

"Gone."

"Well, then since you're no longer detoxing, we can wean you off the antipsychotics and-"

"Already did that."

Dr. Lei's eyebrows scrunched. "You what?"

"I've been cheeking them. And no hallucinations. No outbursts. I've been a model patient. You can screen me."

"You...have, I suppose. Absolutely no hallucinations?"

"Nope," House answered. And it was true. He hadn't seen Amber or Kutner in days. His mind was clear. His leg hurt, but his mind was clear, and that was the important part. He could practice again.

"Well, that's fantastic, Dr. House. After a short leave from work with outpatient therapy, I'll clear you and things can go back to normal. I've also found you an NA group to go to every week."

"I can't go straight back to work?" House asked.

"It's customary to take a short leave to readjust. I'd suggest you do it."

"Well, you might suggest, but I don't have to take the suggestion."

Dr. Lei smiled, but it was strained. "Well, I suppose not, but-"

"Great. How soon can I leave?"

"I can draw up the papers today if you have someone to pick you up?"

"Call Dr. James Wilson. He'd be happy to."

Dr. Lei nodded, reached up, squeezed House's shoulder as a gesture of affirmation, then left the room.

(LINE BREAK)

Five hours later, House was in the car, where he'd been almost exactly a week ago. The radio was playing and his fingers tapped along to it on the arm of the seat. Wilson looked over and smiled at him, glad his old friend seemed to be back. The chorus started. House opened his mouth and sang loudly, finally feeling alive again.

**BONUS MEDICAL GLOSSARY 2:  
Munchausen's: Munchausen's syndrome is when someone is pretending to be or making themselves sick. Munchausen's by proxy, which is discussed in the chapter, is when a parent or caregiver is making their child sick. It is unknown the reasons for this, but doctors have suspected the people may be looking for attention, sympathy, or money. Munchausen's by proxy usually occurs in parents or caregivers involved in the medical field.**

**Awesome: You. Thanks for reading and be sure to check out my other stories!**


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